Sting and Thump

There is a difference between a dagger and a knife.

Daggers, today, are generally kept as aesthetic showpieces. Knives are their functional cousins.

But that doesn't mean my daggers aren't sharp.

—

I pushed her face first into the bed, rested my left hand against her back and reached down with my right to grip the handle of one of my favorite sharp implements (a silver thrusting dagger –  extremely sharp tip, its edges less so). I placed the tip at the small of her back and took my time in running it along her skin.

Tracing the curve of her ass, I felt the fabric of her pantyhose stretch in a vain attempt to protect her skin. Just before reaching the top of her thigh, I dipped the tip down just far enough to catch on the threads and then cut upwards, slicing through the fabric with quiet precision.

I love sharp toys. I ran my finger along the bare skin exposed through the ragged hole I had just created and started again. This time it was her upper right thigh that felt the teasing bite of my dagger as it moved against her skin, cutting another hole in the fabric. I followed with another at the top of her ass, and then two more along mid-thigh and lower back.

Each time the cold metal found skin, leaving faint lines against her ass and back, I felt her tremble.  After a few minutes, I tired of the game and reached down to rip the rest of it open, leaving the top of her thighs, ass, and lower back exposed.

I was ready to begin.

It had been over a year since her last scene, her last beating. She knew her tolerance levels were low, so I began slowly. I started with my doe-skin flogger and warmed her up with a few quick lashes that left her skin a blushing pink. I spaced out each snap of the flogger until I could feel her tensing.

What's worse, I asked, the bite or the flogger or not knowing when it is going to land?

The anticipation, the moments before the next stroke, she said.

After a few minutes, when I felt she was ready for more, I took up a sturdy, heavier, flogger, one of her own toys, and let it kiss her the skin of her ass. She let out a yelp. The doe-skin flogger was almost gentle compared to this. I patiently waited for her to adjust and then let it taste her again, this time along the inside of her thighs. Another on her back, then her ass again.

The rhythmic sound of leather on skin became a litany to match her cries, cries that were increasing in volume as her skin turned from pink to red. I could already see small welts where particularly harsh strikes had landed. I rested my hand on her skin, tracing her new bruises with my fingertips. Her skin was warm where the blood had rushed to the surface.

I paused and leaned over her.

Too much, I asked? 

She told her she could handle the Thump but the Sting was too much.

That's alright, I said. You were kind enough to bring a paddle with you.

Twenty minutes later, after positioning her against the wall and working her over with both floggers and paddle, I knew she was reaching her limit for the evening. At my word, she got on all fours, raising her ass. I took the silver bullet vibrator she'd brought with her and slid it between the back of her thighs.

She had been wet from the moment I had bent her over the bed, but now she was soaking.  I placed the bullet next to her and told her to take it and hold it against her clit.

Standing behind her, I began lashing her skin again with the doe-skin flogger.

You want to come, I asked, don't you? Now is your chance. Take yourself over.

But she couldn't. Not from that position, on all fours. Not while I was re-awakening the raw nerves under the skin I had abused so badly just minutes before. It was simply too much to process while trying to push herself over the edge.

I almost took pity on her.

Almost.