Fight or Fright

I haven’t tried writing erotica in yeaarrrssss. This piece was supposed to be a fear play-themed article for Halloween and then rapidly became smuttier, so I decided to try and go with it. Want a less dirty article about this kink? Head over here to learn five reasons I love this kink!

CWs: breath play, knives/cutting, implied age play (term “little boy”)

I see you out of the corner of my eye, slowly unpacking your bag onto the bed in front of where I’m kneeling, naked. You know I’m watching you and use that to your advantage as you lay out items one-by-one, giving me enough of a glimpse to guess what’s coming.

Adrenaline can be intoxicating; the way you carefully mix anticipation with fear gets me every time.

Your boot forces my thighs apart and you gently kick me in the cunt. “What a good little boy” you say in response to my quick intake of breath. Your freshly polished boot remains between my knees as you unpack the last of your rope, giving me a long look at the even longer knife strapped to your calf over your jeans, the handle wrapped in a rich brown hemp, finished with a Turk’s head knot.

Tonight you’re going to test me.

My breath gets quick and the fear, the excitement, causes my vision to blur and my cunt to get wet. You laugh – low, mockingly – “wet already? I haven’t even touched you yet, boy”.

“Yes Sir. I want…” I pause, not sure how to say it.

You lean in close. “Tell me. Ask for it, I want to hear you say it out loud.” Your hand is tangled in my hair, forcing me to look you in the eyes, allowing you to watch me as I struggle with words. You know exactly what it is I want you to do to me, but part of the fun is in making me tell you what I’m afraid of.

“I…” I can still see that knife. I can’t see the blade but I know by the hilt that it’s your favourite, the spear pointed one. I remember the first time you used it with me, how afraid I was, how important it was for me to work through my anxiety. I wonder if you brought it on purpose, to torment me further. You’re looking at me as if you’ve found your prey and aren’t sure if you want to torment it or go for the kill. I know I have to ask. “Will you…please Sir, will you please cut me?”

Your grin widens. A soft shink fills the air as you slowly pull out your double-edged blade and delicately drag the tip down my cheek, my throat, letting it rest just below my adam’s apple. “With this?” My fear is visible, but I know better than to move away. You smirk. “If you’re good.”

A few pieces of hemp rope lie on top of each other, the colours ranging from deep orange to light yellow and back.Suddenly the blade is gone and you’re pulling me to my feet by my hair. “On your stomach”, you instruct, motioning to the spare bed. I obey; ass toward you, head facing a tall mirror; the familiar feeling of hemp wrapping around me, forcing me into a hogtie, your rope tight against my body, your hands steady and comforting as they tie each knot. “How’s that feel, boy? Sure seems like you’re enjoying yourself…”

Your thumb brushes from my clit to my cunt and I squirm, wanting to feel you inside me. “It feels good, Sir. Thank you” I whimper, helpless.

“Good boy. I’m going to take that ass of yours and if you want to cum, you know what you have to beg for, don’t you?” speaking down to me sternly as if I was a child you had to teach a lesson to, you keep playing with my clit.

The room is quiet enough to hear the snap of a glove being pulled on and the lube open before I feel your fingers, slick and cold, stroking, pushing, filling my ass. Your free hand presses against the small of my back. “Say it now.”

“I have to ask you to cut me, Sir.” I could hear your low growl of approval, feel you carefully wrap more rope around my neck, adding it to the hogtie just loosely enough that I wouldn’t harm myself but giving you easy access to choke me, to force me to watch you.

“That’s it, that’s a good boy.” Your voice is still low, finger working slowly, teasing me, not giving me what you know I want. “You’re taking it so well for me.” I moan, locking eyes with you in the mirror.

“Please fuck my ass, Sir” I plead, attempting to thrust my hips toward your finger. “Please Sir, please fuck your boy’s ass.”

Your hand leaves my back, pulling tight on my neck rope, making me gasp. “What a fucking greedy boy.” You slide another two fingers into my ass in quick succession, forcing them deeper as I struggle against you, overwhelmed by the sudden feeling of you fucking me and the lack of air. You let go of the rope and I gasp, trying frantically to fill my lungs, moaning loudly as you continue to fuck me. You choke me again, and I can feel how hard you are as I struggle to breathe, eyes wide, vision slightly blurred.

“You don’t want to cum already, do you boy?” I can never last long with you fucking my ass, you know that. Your thigh flexes against mine as you fuck me harder. You let me breathe. “I want to hear you beg for it.” You pick up the knife again and begin tracing lazy designs down my back, my sides, up my thighs. Not cutting, but sharp enough to make me squirm harder against you, moaning, still panting.

“Please, Sir. Please may I cum”

Ask properly.”

“Sorry Sir. Will you please cut me?” The blade digs a little harder into my skin, you say nothing, waiting for more from me. “Please cut me, Sir, please. I want to cum for you so bad!”

You push your final finger into my ass, stretching me further than I thought possible, and keep pounding me.

The blade digs a little harder.

“Oh my god please Sir please will you cut me Sir please!” my words tumble together as I fight to keep myself from cumming, to control how incredibly close I am. I’m never certain if you’re trying to edge and control me or if you’re trying to push me until I cum against your command, but I’m a good boy, and good boys obey their Sir.

The knife runs up my outer thigh, hard. “Yes you may. Cum for me, little boy.”

All I can feel are the fingers roughly fucking me, your weight against my thigh and hip, and that terrifying, beautiful knife. I cum. Hard, shaking, overwhelmed, laughing with its intensity.

When I’m done, you untie me. Massage my legs and arms to help my circulation, and turn me to face you. “I didn’t actually break your skin,” you start, one hand resting at the back of my neck. “That wasn’t the point.”

Your arms steady me as you pull me in for a hug and you – terrifying, beautiful you – gently rest your forehead against mine. “You did so well tonight, I know how hard it was for you to ask for that, I’m very pleased with what a good little boy you are, thank you.”

My world feels very small – nothing else existing outside this moment. I’m not sure why I would ever need more.

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