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A Cutting Scene
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.
Subject: story fragment: a cutting scene
We had been playing with blades (i.e., not actually breaking the
skin or drawing blood) for awhile, with mild but growing interest,
when one night I happened to pass the blade right between her
breasts, and I felt in her a surge of power and enthusiasm which
astonished me.
Thankfully she was well restrained, because without thinking she
pushed herself forcefully towards the blade, when it crossed that
point, and I wasn't prepared in any sense right then and there.
But as soon as she could talk she pleaded mightily for a cutting,
confirming my impression that something had had an unexpectedly
powerful effect.
Later I meditated (in padmasana, and staring at blank wall --
imprints from old spiritual experiences, but that's another story).
What energies were involved, and why? As that slowly dawned on me,
the question became, did I want to handle them, and if so, how?
That I *could* handle them, if need be and in abstract, I had no
doubt, inasmuch as I am Awake -- but the warning echoed in my head,
"Never call up one you can't put down" -- and I AM definitely
inexperienced at rituals, having generally considered them as wastes
of time and attention. But I was aware of my weakness here: my
love for her is so strong it CAN border on attachment -- almost
the only foothold Mayah has left in me; and she would of course
be heavily involved here... do not lead us into temptation...
So I prepared things according to a Plan. As the night, I chose
our marriage anniversary, a few days later; and I didn't warn her
beforehand, except to suggest that she not get too tired during
the day as I had "something special" in mind -- but the way I said
it, it could have been anything, from a playful but vanilla romp in
the hay, to an ordinary though pleasant BDSM scene.
So we had dinner out, all dressed up, then we went home. There,
I kept wearing my nice formal suit and tie (an attire we both like,
but don't normally use in scene!), and had her wear a greek-cut
gown, black, gauzy, long to her feet. I informed her she had no
safeword for this scene, and she just bowed her head; we play like
this reasonably often -- not that I would necessarily suggest this
to others, but when you've been doing SexMagick together for a few
years, I guess you can afford such luxuries as these. It wasn't a
luxury tonight: an interruption at the wrong point might have had
unpleasant results.
A crucial choice was the music for the scene: I put on Bach's
"Musical Offering". As most of Bach's music, it's extremely sexy
at heart, but it's also one of his most abstract, pure, serene,
cristalline pieces. Note that in the German title, "Musikalisches
Opfer", "Opfer" is more literally translated as "Sacrifice" or
"Victim"... NOT a random coincidence, for once. A tempting
alternative would have been something by Richard Strauss, or
Stravinsky, or the Eurythmics -- but THOSE sorts of vibrations
in the air would have brought right back the "could I handle it"
question. I was playing it safe, you see.
As the perfect serenity of the Offering's notes filled the air, we
were still doing nothing except talk, really. I lowered the upper
part of her gown, baring her breasts. The Thema Regium continued
to wend its unsettling way through the music, courted and exorcised
and transmuted, but never tamed, by the sparkling crystal cathedrals
of notes built upon it...
Then I had her remove her Virgin Mother medal from her neck,
although it's essentially always there; THIS time, I felt, it
might have made things a bit too complex to handle. Told you I
realize my limitations as a beginner in this sort of stuff...
What happened at that point is not in our minds any more, not in
detail. Sweet words whittling away at her fear, dispelling hurry;
some slight pain from my nails (grown long on purpose) on her
hardening nipples, some kisses; disinfection of the area between
the breasts, and of the blade. Which I had carefully whittled
and sharpened (and already cleaned and disinfected) the day before
the scene.
At some point all was exactly right. The knife's point, which had
been playing lightly for awhile on the breasts and between them,
stopped at their center. My fingers passed one more time, lightly,
around it, waiting for the imperceptible tingle to find her Center
of Power near the heart...
Our eyes met, and our smiles. And the sharpened blade cut a simple
straight line, about an inch, horizontally, not deeply yet; a thin
red line of blood, just a little, welled out. The pain was still
slight, a bit of a surprise to her, although I had predicted it
(the more a blade is sharp, the less a given cut hurts, at least at
first and if the blade is properly used).
It only became VERY painful in the end, as the blade's point entered
more deeply, to get a bit more blood, getting near the sternum but
without scratching the bone itself. Nor any major blood vessel, of
course; I wouldn't have risked this sort of play without careful
previous checking of an anatomical atlas...
Her eyes were closed by now, her face upwards, her arms tucked (not
bound) behind her back, grasping the solid legs of the chair.
Ooops, almost forgot to say that -- we were both sitting in simple
straight chairs, one in front of the other, in the living room.
She was rather out of this world by now, moaning slightly. I
kissed and licked the blade clean (having made sure to use a nontoxic
disinfectant), then bent to her breast to drink her blood. A VERY
slight sucking action heightened the pain again. It wasn't THAT
much blood though - but each drop is the most precious thing...
The disinfectant, which was then newly applied to the still-open
wound, was also very painful for her. As was, after all the perfect
sweetness, serenity, and light up to this point, being sent to
fetch the crop; and the few but hard strokes on the breasts, and
particularly on the wound itself, renewing the bleeding.
She could hardly sit straight any more at this point; I stood
up, knelt her on the floor, straight up, making her hold on to
my legs, and whipped her bare back a few times; then had her kiss
the blade, and the whip.
I picked her up in my arms and carried her to the bedroom, placing
her on the bed. The Presence, who had been hovering around for a
while, intensified enough to be felt clearly; by now, It was
physically inside myself, mostly. Enough to make me tingle with
Power from feet's soles to the top of the hair, at least.
I like to think of Him as St. Michael, that is, in His form as a
young winged man with Sword. I have always liked that, and the
fact that a few days before we had been in Venice's Palazzo Ducale,
staring with astonishment at that very figure slashing away at
demons in the center of Bosch's Inferno, surely helped. She prefers
to refer to Him as Quetzalcoatl, in His aspect as the winged Serpent;
the rite was more addressed to this Aspect, clearly -- It's always
thirsty of blood, particularly that willingly given. The name He's
probably best known by is Mars.
I now removed the gown from her body, leaving her naked; standing
at the side of the bed, still in suit and tie, I hit that beautiful
naked form with the crop, again, and again. I love that crop for
the perfect control it gives the wielder on the amount and position
of pain inflicted -- from none at all, to excruciating, and always
with minimal marks, and never breaking the skin and drawing blood.
This time of course it was different, when the open wound was hit.
I had used no bonds or gag up to now -- I wanted to hear her screams,
to see her beloved body thrashing in pain; it was fitting.
After a few strokes I laid down the crop, and bound her wrists, and
her ankles, with leather manacles; no gag or blindfold. She was
racked with sobs, a few tears streaking her face. Finally, I
now removed my clothing, and climbed into the bed with her.
Another blank-ish spot in our recollection is what happened on the
bed. Not sex, not really THAT much further pain either. We're
sure we can ferret out those two whitened-out periods if need be;
there's probably a good reason why they've been edited out of our
memories, so we won't, at least for now.
At one point I decided the game with the Presence had gone far
enough, as It was about to take over or something, not a good idea
(although I had made sure to leave the knife in the living room).
Not much time could have passed overall, as Bach's Musical Sacrifice
still filled the atmosphere with calm and perfection AND that thin
unsettling wedge of the Thema Regium; I hid the Sword that was on
the bed, and let myself be filled by that music's serenity. Oh,
and by that of the two large statues of Buddha towering in our
bedroom, of course.
St. Michael did not go away at once, although He quickly grew bored
of my rapidly quietening state. At once the pain in her breast
started pulsating: it grew terrible, then it went away, then it
grew and grew enough to make her emit a little shriek, maybe more
of surprise than of pain. It didn't last long. As it went away,
all the hair on my chest stood on end -- no pain, nor even tingling.
Too much Peace was now in me to be any more affected than that, so
He again grew bored fast. The main thing was done anyway -- the
Serpent had taken its Offering, and apparently enjoyed it.
The bedroom's window slammed once, surprisingly loud (nice theatrical
touch, that!); and that was that. A minute or two later, the music
also finished. I freed her limbs, and we hugged, and showered
sweet light kisses on each other's faces; we pulled the sheets over
our naked, entwined bodies, so happy, and drained of energy, that we
slid right into a deep and serene sleep. It was only next morning,
before breakfast, that we actually made love...
The cut healed very well in the next days, as I intended, and by now,
a month later, it's only visible as a very thin line, enough that it
might not catch your attention if you didn't know it was there. The
typical aftereffects of a session of Magick (mystical insights for me,
colour vision abnormally heightened, as by certain drugs, for her)
also lasted only a little. Other effects, such as the powerful further
bonding between us, I think will last FAR longer.
I wonder if she ever plans to cut me, too, and what setting she will
devise then. No matter, really; she's just as perfect a Lady as she
is a slave, and I'm sure she'll do whatever is right -- just as she
is sure of me, when it's me on top. Now she wants me tattooed, and
I shall be -- a Buddha serenely contemplating a bloodied Sword...
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