Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. *Cuffs* He begins with the handcuffs; they are studded black leather, joined by a chain. I am naked apart from my bra and shorts. I feel smaller than usual, lying while He stands above me, his powerful body a giant to mine. He takes my hands and puts them above my head. He moves me around so easily--if I tried I would not be able to resist him. A strap of thick leather clamps around my wrist and is drawn tight. It is drawn around the bed post and then my other wrist is in his strong grasp. The cuff slips over my hand and He cinches it tight. I tilt my head back to look up at my now bound arms. The leather is dark in contrast to my skin, and the cuffs are unnecessarily thick and heavy. They look good and solid and tight. The next fastening is a blindfold, cutting me off from the soft light of the bedroom, denying me any knowledge of His movements. It is only when I feel His fingers parting my lips that I know I am about to be gagged. I open wide and a solid, polished ball is placed between my jaws. Though I cannot see it, I know it is red. How many times has it been inside my mouth? How many times have I bitten down about it at the moment of my climax? I raise my head from the pillow to allow him to fasten the straps behind my head. A collar goes around my neck. He is oddly tender, even as he secures me, making sure not to catch my hair or skin as he clicks the thing shut. I swallow, and feel my throat bob against the soft inner lining. No escaping this. He strokes a hand against my side, his strong, rough hand. He who owns me. He who loves me. The next restraints are around my thighs. They are thicker and heavier, like the bridle of some animal, and if I was not blindfolded I would be able to admire their strength. He cinches each one tight and there is the clinking of chain as he secures them to the bed. My legs are parted now, without any choice on my behalf. I am exposed to him. The bonds hold me. There is no escape and there is no fear. I am secure. I am calm with the leather around my limbs, ready for the touch of those rough hands. Finally come the cuffs around my ankles. The fit snugly, tightly, stretching me out on the bed like an offering to Him. As He clicks them shut my imprisonment is complete. I am tied there, held as securely as in a lover's embrace, blind and gagged and spread, awaiting His touch. * *Knife* The knife is cold against my skin. I am blindfolded and lying on my back. He takes my hand in his rough grasp and lets me feel the sharpness of the blade. He draws a line across my finger, the pain focussed and bright. I gasp and bite back a word. This is my warning. He starts to cut away my clothes, beginning with my shirt. I love this; the knife sliding along close to my flesh, touching sometimes. A careless move away from that same, bright pain. Pain as intense as an orgasm. The knife proceeds down my front and then my top is gone. I raise myself a little from the bed so that He can pull the material away from under me. He slits my skirt off with a single swift cut, the sound of splitting fabric. He is an expert at this. There will be no accidents, but the sudden way he removes my skirt takes my breath away none the less. Makes me quiver. My bra. He puts the knife under each strap in turn and cuts upwards. I whimper as the knife grazes my breast. He peels off the tattered thing, leaving naked but for the flimsy traingle of lace that arrows between my legs. That is where I'll feel the knife next, I am certain. But I feel it's cold touch underneath my breast instead. A sharp touch. A catch my breath as he slides it down and it is only after a delirious, heady moment of fear that I realise he must be using the blunt side. The movement is repeated on my other side. And then the cold blade is flat against my stomach and I can feel his fingers and the ridge of the handle as he slides it down into my underwear. The cold metal is over me, on me, and I hardly dare to breathe or move. His hands are on breasts, the knife left lying there, tucked into the waist of my panties, heavy against me. His hands knead and tease at my chest. I feel the slight callus of them, the strength. I trust him beyond anyone else. This is so intimate, so close, as if we two are parts of the same person. I feel him settle on the bed beside me and the knife is withdrawn. He does so quickly, so quick that for a moment I am sure I have been cut, and tense in expectation of the pain. It does not come. The blade is at my throat now. He lifts me by the back of the neck, keeping the knife close all the while and brings me fumbling, blinded by the strip of cloth over my eyes, to his lap. The blade against the side of my throat makes me feel all soft and unguarded. The deep, dark core of fear is split open and biting, better than any pill or potion. Adrenaline flows in a torrent. I take him in my mouth and start to suck and tongue. I know what he likes. I am so alive at the moment--everything I breathe is glitter, the knife riding with the bobbing of my head, always there, close enough to feel the warmth of the blade. The blade warmed by my own intimate heat. He groans out loud and I feel proud at how I can please him. The knife is still tight, quivering a little against my flesh, and then it is not, then it is gone again. I feel the pressure of its point twice, at each of my hips, digging in. I have no way of knowing if I am cut or not, but I do feel the give as the ties that hold my last, thin covering in place. He guides me gently back to the bed, and I lie, open, waiting, naked, unsure of where I will feel the sweet touch of the knife come next. * *Belt* He touches me with skilled fingers. He knows me, knows where inside me to touch to bring me to the greatest height. My organs turn over inside my skin. I am a melting pot of juices and shuddering muscles, climbing, climbing towards that perfect, blissful moment. But He stops just short. He knows me well enough to balance me on the very edge of coming. My body sparks with the orgasm I almost had. I know what is coming next, and so when his hands turn me gently over it is no surprise. There is the soft, menacing clink and hiss as he removes his belt. "Count to ten." His voice is steady, strong. I nod, thrilling with equal parts dread and excitement. Ten is more than he has ever given me before. I am strong, proud of my ability to handle pain. But He knows how to get to me. "One," I say. There is a sharp, resounding snap and the pain blazes through me a microsecond later. Enough to make me grunt. I bite my lip. My breathing speeds up, as if I'd just run a mile. "Two." I bury my face in the pillow. Snap! "Three." My voice trembles, my body tensing automatically, knowing to expect the pain now. Snap! The belt lands again. "Four." Snap! The pain is starting to build now, the hurt from the previous lash not fading before the next one arrives. "Five." Snap! Part of me loves the pain. The hurt that He chooses to give me. My eyes are shut tight. "Six." I spit it out, the pleasure and the pain in equal measure. Snap! "Seven" Snap! It is building, the pain intensifying to the point that I almost have to scream. He seems to hit the same spot each time. A burning streak across my buttocks. The pain redoubles with the fresh snap of . . . "Eight." And I scream as the blow lands. The pain is stretching out. I can feel my own arousal at it. The blood pulsing in my sex. "Nine." Snap! The twin extremes of pleasure and pain. So intense I can barely stand it. It is the moment before an orgasm, that bursting rush of pleasure reversed and redoubled and wonderful. "Ten." I gasp the word. The belt lashes down once more, biting into me and then the strapping is over. The pain starts slowly to fade. I have been holding my breath, and I let it out now, slow and shuddery. There are tears in my eyes and sweat on my neck. He turns me over, now--in contrast with just moments before--handling me as gently as if I am made of glass. "Thank you, sir." I say. He nods. I cannot meet his gaze and so I look at His hands. The ones that so recently set a fire inside me, that can play me like an instrument. "What do you want?" He asks. "Please . . ." "What?" He will have me beg, I know, if I want Him to finish me. "Please, sir." He throws the belt aside. As He sinks himself into me a million bubbles seem to rise and pop inside of me, each one bright as a lash, each one a miracle. * The End * Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed "Cuffs / Knife / Belt", you can find out more about me and my work, and download my other books at the address below. See you soon!