Cuts

Blood, needles, cuts and the likes have always been a hard limit for me. However my problem with limits is that sooner or later they seem to become a very desirable thing to try. Since I'm not the person for a huge amount of fantasising, I realise I would like to try something and then get on with it.

But I wanted to be cut and not cut myself. Therefore I obviously had to convince someone to cut me. I felt a little rejected by twentytwo when I mentioned it for the first time, but also understood that it wasn't really his thing and that cutting someone is in a whole different category than spanking and such. It's serious harm, it might be permanent, it's not like a bruise that might look scary at first but will vanish after a few days.

I kept mentioning my desire to be cut once in a while and - I don't know what brought about his change of mind - he agreed to look for 'something sharp' at LAM last weekend. I couldn't quite believe my luck. I really wanted to try this now.

To be honest I hadn't done a lot of reading up on the topic and I just envisioned 'something sharp and scary' to cut me. Preferably a big shiny knife. The only thing we could find at LAM were scalpels that reminded me much more of my very painful and non-successful wrist surgery than brought up images of a hot scene. But I still really wanted to try. I mean, I really wanted to try.

When he left to get the car I decided to sneak back and buy some of those scalpels. I very proudly showed them off to him in the car and again was very surprised when he agreed on using them. Later that night we decided that this whole things shouldn't be taken lightly and that some preparation and lots more information on the topic was needed. Some lovely people pointed us in the right direction, Boots provided some equipment and the thought slowly becoming reality left me with a very unusual feeling. Something inside tightened by the thought of twentytwo with a scalpel in his hand. Pictures of big wounds and lots of blood. I was getting seriously scared.

I sort of hoped that as soon as I arrived at his place we would sit down, talk about it and do it. Unfortunately he had decided to punish me for making him do something he really didn't want to be doing.


The moment he hit my breasts with the flogger I started crying. Every blow of the crop and cane made me jump and even though he had barely started I was already in tears, begging him to stop. Inside I was so scared I couldn't even take a spanking. Thanks to his good sense of judgement he soon untied me and led me into the play room. At first I just sat there with my eyes closed, feeling the pain and trying not to think of the cutting.

After a while I opened my eyes and found everything from bandages to antiseptic cream on the bed next to me. I smiled to myself and all of a sudden I was getting quite excited. Part of it was that I kept telling myself that it wouldn't be that bad. That it just couldn't be. It would be fine. Just fine.
However the tightening sensation came back as soon as we unwrapped one of the scalpels and both tried to cut lightly into a tangerine. I couldn't believe how easily the blade cut through the skin. A clean deap cut. Very deep.


'No pressure' I told him and we both laughed nervously. I still really wanted to try.
My hands tied together I lay down on the bed, watching him putting on his latex glove and sitting down next to me, with the scalpel in his hand. A very powerful sight I will never forget.

The first cut I could hardly feel. Or maybe I didn't feel it at all. It took some time for him to find the right pressure and for me to adjust to this new feeling. In the end he wrote a little S on my thigh. For Sirebel, submission or my name. It was over far too quickly, but I was still massively proud we had done it and very thankful for him being as careful and caring as he was.

It was intense, but it wasn't sexual. I wasn't aroused and therefore complained a lot when he started to spank me. I knew there wasn't even a slight possibiliy that he would hit the fresh cuts, but I felt too vulnerable to cope with more pain. When he started fucking me I didn't even want that. Sometimes he knows me better than myself. I did want to be fucked and I felt complete and truly happy being in his arms afterwards, smiling and admiring the S shape in its bright red colour.