Blades & Blood

My friend Jade chose the topic of knives as the Kink of the Week a few weeks ago. I wanted to link this post to her blog, but life intervened and I didn’t get it finished in time. After putting so much thought into it, I decided to post it anyway.

The click of a switchblade opening.
Cold steel warming against your skin.
A honed edge pressing against your throat.
The sting as your flesh is sliced open.
For some these words do nothing but cause panic; for me, they arouse. I’m a knife player. I love the fear. I love the blood. I love the scars.

To understand it, you have to know a little bit more of my history. At the age of eight I purposefully pressed a razor blade to my index finger and cut it open. I wanted to see what it felt like. The lack of pain was surprising, as was the effect the sight of the blood had on me. It was exciting; my heart raced, my breath quickened. Somehow I knew that I probably shouldn’t tell that detail to anyone. When I was sixteen I worked the switchboard at a museum on the weekend nights. It was a boring job, and gave me plenty of time and solitude to do what I liked. I would cut small geometric designs into my thighs with an X-acto knife. I loved being the only person that knew they were there. Between the ages of eighteen and nineteen, after a surprise pregnancy and subsequent abortion as well as a failed attempt at going away to college, I cut myself quite often out of misery. I’m not proud of that brief period of my life, but it’s a part of me. Eventually I realized that cutting wasn’t a healthy outlet for what I was feeling, but my fascination with blood and blades stayed with me even after I gave it up.

Almost three years ago Panzer and I went to a weekend-long kink event and I dragged him to a Bloodplay class. He was less than thrilled, but I couldn’t get enough. It was so exciting to know that there were many other people with the same fascination as myself. We watched a woman have an IV placed in her arm and then orgasm as her own blood was drizzled onto her naked body. It was one of the most erotic things I’ve ever witnessed. I couldn’t wait to try a bloodplay scene. Much to my dismay, Panzer wasn’t as aroused by the idea. He’s a little bit more squeamish than I am, and the thought of cutting me open did nothing for him. I was distraught. I thought I’d never get my scene.

Less than a year later, I got it. I found out that a friend of ours enjoyed playing with knives, blood, and fear, but didn’t have the opportunity very often. I worked up the courage and asked him if he’d like to scene with me at some point. He agreed, and a week later I was naked in a dungeon watching this man clean up a pool of my blood. He scared me, he hurt me, he gave me exactly what I wanted. For several hours I wasn’t 100% certain that I’d leave that room with all the skin I’d arrived in. I was completely terrified; so much so, that Panzer was worried for me as he listened to my screams. I still carry scars from that scene almost two years later and I consider them prized possessions.

Since then, I’ve made my love of knives and blood known to everyone I play with. Panzer is still a bit reticent to pull a knife on me, but he’s getting better. The Cop blindfolded me once and ran a straight razor all over my body. The Rigger once jumped out of a dark bathroom as I walked by, held a knife to my throat, and pulled me back into the room with him in order to molest me for a little while. The Biker carries a knife at all times and is quite fond of pulling it out at the bar and running the tip across my skin. He knows what happens go me when I hear the sound of a switchblade opening. He even has a special blade that he’s saving for our first knife scene together and I honestly cannot wait.

I’ve wondered many times what it is about honed steel that gets me wet. After much deliberation, I think it might be somewhat related to why I enjoy face slapping; having my caged submissive dragged out of me. When the edge of a knife is held to my throat, a wrong move could be fatal and at that point, I have no choice but to follow every instruction given to me by my Top. I’m forced to submit to their whims, lest I get seriously hurt. But there is still that eight year old girl inside of me that cut herself just to feel it, just to see the blood. She gets off on the thought that perhaps the blade will press a little too deeply and the blood will slowly flow. The sensation of it pooling in the wound, running down my skin, dripping to the ground; just thinking of it right now gives me goosebumps. Where this love of blood came from, I do not know. I’m sure that I never will. But I’m okay with that. I don’t always need to know the “why”. What matters is that I found a (somewhat) safer and healthier way to fulfill my desire for blood. What matters is that I know I can find people I trust that will hurt me, but not harm me.

The man that gave me my first knife and blood scene knows of my love for vintage lingerie. He cut seams into my legs from my ass to my ankles and two years later, I still have scars.

The man that gave me my first knife and blood scene knows of my love for vintage lingerie. He cut seams into my legs from my ass to my ankles and two years later, I still have scars.

One Response to “Blades & Blood”

  1. How I wish you’d have posted this for the Knives KOTW! But you know…it works nicely for Marks as well, or you could extend this for a discussion on them if you wanted to link to this week’s KOTW.

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