My mind wandered away for a moment. I entered the dreamscape of my consciousness.

I was looking at all the blades, inspecting them for blemishes. I was taking down each one. And she is tied in a chair. She is tied over a chair. No, wait, she is tied to the table. Spread out and screaming. Completely naked, her arms and her legs all tied separately each one secured to each individual table leg. The table moves to the center of the room and i stand straight, still inspecting the knives. Still looking for imperfections. Looking for rust spots. Looking for nicks or dings. Holding each knife, blade facing the light, looking down each shaft for dull spots. You can always tell a dull knife this way, when a bit of the blade reflects light. Dull knives are dangerous. Dull knives are the most dangerous knives of all; they trick your mind into thinking they are safe. They appear harmless until the pressure is increased and your skin gives way. Everybody handles sharp knives with care and respect. Nobody respects a dull knife and it is for this reason that they are most dangerous.

Ah ha! This one. I chose a medium-sized chefs knife. This knife will be perfect. I take a step toward the table, where she is tied. Tears have fallen down each side of her face and are now soaking the few strands of hair that have become stuck to the table. Her eyes are red and she looks at me. Breathing and panting hysterically she asks what i am about to do.

"I have chosen a medium-sized chefs knife. It's blade approximately five to six inches in length. The knife itself is about ten inches long. It seems to be the sharpest, most practical knife for this use. Did you know that dull knives are more dangerous than sharp ones? Everybody treats a sharp knife with care and respect. Why didn't you ever treat me with care and respect? Why did you never care? All i wanted was for you to love me back. All i wanted was a little appreciation." I take another step.

She asks again, what.

I look down on the table at the miles and miles of perfect pink flesh. I think to myself what i would do to her if i was in the mood. How i would love to get on the table and force myself into her dry pussy. How i would love to hear her scream and watch her tears while i entered her. How i would pull out and slap her ass. I would slap her beautiful breast. How i would get off of the table and spit on her pink and swollen labia. I would undo her feet from the table and tie her ankles together. Getting back on the table i would grab the bundle of rope that was her ankles and hold it to my left side as, again i would thrust myself into her. I would tell her that i was going to kill her after this. I would tell her that there is no way i could let her live after i had raped her as she would just open up her mouth and cry to her mother and i would be sent to jail. I would tell her that i was going to cut up her body and bury it in my basement. I would tell her that her body would never be found. All the while i would be forcing myself in and out of her pussy. I'd tell her that i want her to hurt. I'd tell her that this is about me, this is about my childhood. This is about me not being able to cope with my childhood molestation. This is about my utter disrespect for women, this is about life and death. Before i came, I would pull out of her pussy and force my glistening dick into her asshole. I would listen to her scream and i would come as i shove myself deeper and deeper into her tight, dry asshole. That is, If i were in the mood. "I am going to cut you free" I say.

The girl looks confused, she looks distraught and let down. Her eyes don't light up as i thought they would. Her muscles don't relax as i had figured. She doesn't seem to understand. She almost seems let down at the thought of escape.

" i thought that you were going to rape me" She says "i thought you were going to force yourself into my dry pussy, pull out and spit on it, slap my ass and my tits, tie my ankles together and fuck me while i cried. I thought you were going to tell me that you were going to kill me and bury me in your basement. I figured that before you came you would pull out and shove your hard dick into my dry asshole, coming as i screamed and cried."

"i thought about that" I said.

Her lips are still moving and words are drooling out of her mouth. Thoughts are cluttered and shuffled around her her head. They are assembled, in no particular order, then spoken. But, my god she is beautiful.

My eyes wander to her chest, moving steadily in and out from breathing. Shuttering and waving from speaking. Her breasts must sit perfectly in her bra. They must be remarkably comfortable, being so warm, so fluid and oh so close to her heart. Her shape is perfect, five foot seven and curves like a sports car. I can't help myself. I take a step in closer for a kiss. She accepts and returns with confidence. Our tongues play games in each other's mouths and her teeth hang from my bottom lip.

She takes a step back and leans against the wall, pulling me towards her. This is vertical dry sex. And i look up. I look up to see the rack of knives and my daydream flashes through my head. At that moment i was possessed, almost out of control of my own body. My mood and fetish takes over. I am ruled by lust and governed by sexuality. I watch as my hand slips up to the knife rack. My hand grabs the medium-sized kitchen knife. All the while i am kissing her. My arm brings my hand, full of knife, down to her throat and she stops for a second. Her mouth closes and her lips tighten.

Not a word is said.

I can almost her her thinking.

With a cold knife resting on her neck and a warm body forced against her, she is contemplating. Life is flashing before her eyes, death is entering her thoughts and i swear she saw my dreamscape. I could almost see the blood rush from her face and find its way to her toes. Her stomach follows, and a decision is made.

Her head, flat against the wall directly under the knife rack, does not flinch. Her hands make their descent to my belt and get to work. Once there, with a little shuffle and manipulation, they take down my pants.

"Did you know that dull knives are the most dangerous?" She asks. There is a pause, a moment of understanding, a moment of care and respect. "Rape me"

I comply.

Labels: alcohol, fetish, knife, knives, rape, sex, story, writing